Loveless
by poetif
Summary: The call, though unexpected was anything but unwelcomed. They don't plan things. They don't have picnics in the park or romantic weekend getaways. He doesn't have an extra toothbrush at her place because he's never been there. And she's never been to his apartment either. - Characters belong to Dick Wolf, yada, yada, yada. But this fic is of course all mine.


**A/N: For writersrefinery who had a personal request for me to pen a fic based on "Earned It", by The Weeknd. I do NOT and probably will NEVER again take another one but when I listened to the song, a definite picture began to form and with that, a story began to take shape as well. In the first half you can imagine whomever you'd like, as names aren't revealed or used until later. And as always, feel free to give me some feedback. This is a one-shot.**

He walks steadfastly along the sidewalk through the barrage of people carrying umbrellas he wishes he had. They look like roving mushroom caps, the lot of them. Bumping into one another on the busy walkway not bothering to say 'excuse me', him included.

His focus is on a fixed point, and getting there as fast as his legs can carry him. Slowing down for pleasantries isn't on the agenda.

But she is.

Pushing his way through the revolving door, he hurries into the lobby from the pouring rain, nearly soaked head to toe from the unexpected winter deluge. Even if he wasn't wet like a sewer rat, the fact that he isn't wearing a $5000 Italian suit into their plush establishment, is enough to draw the disapproving eyes of the desk clerks.

With the icy glare he returns, it's a surprise when they don't send security after him as he tracks sodden footsteps across the carpet to their polished-to-a-shine, brass elevators. The _'ding'_ sounds the arrival of a waiting car and he eagerly hops aboard.

As he lights up the number eleven on the key pad, saliva gathers in his mouth and the thumping of his heart mirrors the anticipatory images his mind constructs. Being a 6:05pm on a Wednesday night, it is both an odd day and a strange hour to be doing anything other than preparing for dinner or helping the kids with homework.

Two things his weekdays no longer consist of.

The call, though unexpected was anything but unwelcomed. They don't plan things. They don't have picnics in the park or romantic weekend getaways. He doesn't have an extra toothbrush at her place because he's never been there. And she's never been to his apartment either.

They've only ever had…this.

It began just three months ago when he'd called her out of the blue. There was yelling, use of profanity that would make a drunken sailor blush, some crying and after three hours on the phone, an understanding of sorts.

A week had gone by before she'd reached out to him.

He could hear the tears in her voice and the raw, gritty emotion as she'd simply asked him to meet her. The assumption was it would be somewhere familiar. A café, maybe a diner or even a park bench so they could talk. A hotel off the Jersey turnpike was the last thing he had expected but he'd gone with a near painful desire to see her because of three little words _, "I need you."_

And just as he'd done tonight, he'd dropped what he was doing, gotten into his car and driven to meet her.

After two knocks to the door of the room number he was given, she'd let him in. There was a half empty bottle of wine on the dresser, a flat screen TV that she'd immediately turned off once he was inside, and a very large bed. She'd ditched her blazer but still donned her work clothes, a navy blue chiffon blouse and black slacks. He could tell she'd been crying despite the fact that she'd reapplied her make-up.

" _What happened?" He'd asked, concerned. "What's wrong?"_

" _I don't wanna talk about it," she'd said._

" _Then what-why am I here?" He'd questioned._

She'd crossed the room, almost timidly before laying warm palms against his neck and seeking his mouth. His hands had instinctively gone to her waist as he'd kissed her back but after realizing what he was doing and who he was doing it with, he'd leaned away.

" _What is this?"_

" _Just…please," she'd said. "No more questions, no more talking."_

And when she'd leaned in to cover his lips again it was with more urgency and a passion they hadn't shared before that night. She'd opened his jacket, pushed it up and off of his shoulders onto the floor. Nimble fingers quickly unbuttoned his shirt and stripped it from his body as her tongue delved into his mouth.

For two hours they'd had the most visceral, animalistic, nearly violent sex two people with their history could have had. And after taking his turn using the shower, he'd come out to find that she'd left but not without leaving a note.

 _ **The room is yours for the night if you want to stay.**_

 _ **Thank you.**_

He'd felt used. And pissed. Then he'd remembered her words afterwards and couldn't blame her. She said she knew he cared about her, that she could trust him and it's the reason that she'd chosen his number to call. But despite how well they'd connected, there was to be no relationship, no professions of love.

He had agreed that they were just two broken, lonely people that needed to feel something. And from the door, to the carpet and finally to the bed, they had. They'd shut out the rest of the world and it had just been the two of them. The promise he'd made to himself not to show up to any more hotels, on random days and nights, at all hours has been broken a countless number of times since then.

He's gotten used to being used because as corny as it sounds, it's nothing short of magic when they're together.

And tonight will be no different.

He knocks, she answers. The room is extravagant, gorgeous even, much like her. It's her birthday and he knows she's been out. With a man. The way her hair is down against her shoulders, the jewelry, the curve-hugging dress, and the intoxicating aroma of perfume was all meant to attract someone. Just, not him.

They have unspoken rules.

Dating happens but the only sex they have is with each other. There can be no hickeys left. He will not bring gifts of any kind. There will be no use of pet names. They will always use condoms. One of them will be leaving afterwards and there will be no oral sex. To her it's a form of intimacy that breeds and speaks to an emotional attachment that she's intent on not having.

And lastly…she's the only one that sets up their…interludes.

He can phone and talk to her about the weather, how work is going or the stats of the Yankees roster. But he _cannot_ and she _will_ not discuss what they do after she calls.

The room is darkened when he enters. As she steps away to lower the zipper on her dress, a flash of lightening emphasizes the sensuosity of her curves. After ditching his wet trench over a chaise lounge, he approaches her.

"Happy Birthday," he whispers against her neck as he comes up from behind, circling her waist with his arms.

"Thanks."

He lowers his lips to her neck, at first inhaling her pulling scent, kissing the soft skin he finds, then begins to suckle. And that's when she turns and stops him.

"You know better," she reminds him.

If course he does, he just doesn't care.

"Sorry," he offers, only he isn't. "I couldn't help myself."

Leaning down, he melds his mouth to hers in an attempt to make her forget his little lapse in memory.

And of course it works.

After he loses his dampened shirt, she goes to work on his belt buckle. When his pants hit the carpeting, her dress slips to her ankles in a 'whoosh' about two seconds later. His hands move slowly from her stomach to her back. And while he's perfectly happy to continue simply kissing her, she moves them towards the bed.

He knows it must be confusing for her. Their time is usually a lust filled rush to the finish for both of them. They haven't done slow caresses and long explorations. But tonight, he wants to take his time. He can't pretend anymore. So while he's hovering over her, he makes an attempt to kiss her slower, run gentle fingers across her collarbone, suckle at her breasts until she's moaning uncontrollably.

"God that feels so good," she manages.

This would normally be the point where he'd slip a hand over her center to rub her to distraction before sliding her panties down her legs. And while that part of the script stays the same, he changes one minor detail. Instead of using his fingers, he stays at the juncture of her thighs and dips his head.

"What are you doing?" She asks, lids low and eyes so dark they're nearly black.

He's got her already.

"It's your birthday baby," he answers, in a deep, bedroom voice, further defying the rules.

Knowing she's going to continue to protest, he uses one long, warm stroke of his tongue in an attempt to change her mind.

"Wait," she tries, as he continues. "Don't…ahhh…we should…you should st-

But he persists, licking deeply, then shallowly, teasing her the most enjoyable way imaginable, like he's wanted to do all along. She stops trying to object, losing the will to do anything other than clinch the four-hundred thread count sheets in her fists. When she orgasms, his name falls breathily from her lips.

After letting her regain her senses, he plants kisses all over her sensitized flesh before letting her taste herself. With her hands planted at her shoulders, he smoothes rough palms up her wrists until their fingers are intertwined. Her eyes momentarily squeeze closed as he buries himself inside her.

When she opens them again, he's eyeing her with what she's been firmly trying to deny for weeks. He pulls back halfway, then plunges back in, stealing her very breath. Moving his hips like a pendulum, be begins a lazy rhythm reserved for the one thing they aren't supposed to be doing.

Making love.

And while he's likely surprised her with that level of affection, she returns the favor when she flips their positions. He slides his hands up her abdomen then palms both breasts, manipulating her nipples with his thumbs as she rides him. She bites her lower lip as she leans back to grasp his thighs for leverage. He sits up to join her holding tightly to her hips, pulling himself deeper as they move together. The result? She climaxes with a bite to his shoulder to prevent herself from saying his name again.

But he's not done.

Reversing their positions he matches the pace she set, pistoning his hips fervently enough for drops of sweat to bead on his forehead. He pulls her thigh over his, and after a few more strokes, finishes with a grunt as he whispers her name against the soft skin of her neck. Neither means to fall asleep, but giving into an emotional connection on top of the physical one they'd already possessed, has exhausted them both.

When he awakens, it's to the pleasant surprise of her slumbering presence. He's spooned up behind her, their legs tangled. Raising his head up to look at the red, digital display on the nightstand, he finds they've been sleeping for over four hours. Together. His world is perfect for the next few minutes until she wakes up.

He knows she's done so because she stiffens in his arms. The tension radiates off of her body as she sighs with realization.

"What's wrong?" He asks, planting a kiss on her shoulder.

"You already know the answer to that," she replies, pulling away from him to sit against the leather tufted headboard. "You broke the rules," she tells him, gathering the sheet across her breasts.

"Yeah well," he begins, perching on his elbows while lying on his stomach. "I figured it bein' a special occasion and all-

"Don't lie to me Elliot," she interrupts, combing a hand through the silken tresses of her chestnut hair. "Because…I know you," she tells him. "I know you came here with a plan."

"Really?" He says. "And what gives you that idea?"

"Because everything you do is with obvious intention," she points out. "From you calling me 'baby', to the way you kissed me, touched me-

"Tasted you," he finishes, causing her to close her eyes at the memory. "Maybe making you feel more than you wanted to?"

"Yes," she admits. "And not using a condom?"

"I wanted to feel you too," he answers with a momentary smirk. "But seriously, I didn't think you wanted a booty call for your birthday," he continues. "You deserve more."

She throws off the covers and scoots out of the bed.

"You mean, _you_ deserve more," she contends, shimmying into her panties. "You want more and you have for a while now."

He mimics her former position, sitting up against the headboard.

"Excuse me for not wantin' to _f*ck_ you forever," he tells her, shocking her with his crass statement. "For once, I wanted to make love to you," he goes on as she pulls her arms through the straps of her bra. "And let's not pretend that I was the only one in this bed."

"If this wasn't working for you anymore you should've told me," she says ignoring his words. "I would've found someone else."

This pisses him off instantly as he throws off the duvet, stalking towards her. For the first time since knowing him, she's kind of scared.

"Just like that huh?" he asks, breathing heavily. "It isn't workin' out, so what are you gonna do?" He continues. "Audition someone else to be your routine f*ck buddy?"

The sting probably hurts her hand more than it does his face but it was hard enough to literally turn his cheek. She's standing there looking half pissed and half broken once he's facing her again. Quickly, he pulls his boxer briefs back on, then his pants and lastly his shirt. He doesn't even bother buttoning it before grabbing his trench coat.

He pulls the small, black, rectangular box with a blue bow out of the inside pocket and slams it on the dresser, causing her to jump.

"If you're _that_ afraid of someone bein' in love with you," he begins. "Then I guess there's nothin' I can say or do to change your mind."

Though she's standing there in her bra and panties, she's never been more naked before him. In opening the door, he gives her one last glance.

"Happy Birthday Liv," he rasps.

And then he's gone.

Christmas comes and goes without a single word between them and he feels lost like he's out to sea. The waves, icy cold around him, without the shore in sight. He watches through the glass as puffy, white flakes build on his balcony, Mother Nature having finally decided to let loose over the city.

All he can think about is how foolish he must've been to think her brave enough to give them a chance. Every emotional attachment she's ever had has been one disappointment after another from her parents, to her half-brother to those men she let close enough to break her heart. So really, he can't blame her for not allowing anyone else the opportunity to do the same.

Only he does. Mistakenly he thought she would want to risk what they had for a shot at the real thing.

With an exasperated sigh, he tears himself away from the winter wonderland unfolding outside to answer a knock at the door. What a miserable way to ring in the New Year. Take-out, his six pack of Heineken and an _'I Love Lucy'_ marathon. He guesses it could be worse. There could be some case to drag him out into the cold, forcing him among the masses that overpopulate the New York City sidewalks this time of year. In retirement though, that's no longer a possibility.

Swiping his money from the kitchen counter, he prepares to pay for his garlic bread and chicken parm. But when he opens the door, his arm freezes holding out the twenty meant for the Taliaferro's delivery person.

"Hey," she says as he drops his hand to his side.

Elliot swallows harshly, taking in his visitor from head to toe. She's never been there and he didn't know that she even had the address.

"Liv," he manages. "What are you doin' here?"

"I was in the neighborhood?"

"Really?" He asks. "So you hang out in Tribeca a lot?" He goes on, folding his arms against his chest.

The delivery girl happens along and Olivia moves to the side to let the exchange take place. He doesn't bother inviting her in afterwards, just stands there. The young lady sees the awkward tension and rushes off with her tip.

Offering himself up to her, putting himself out there was one of the scariest things he's ever done. Therefore he has no desire to make whatever conversation she's come to have any easier on her. Watching her clench and release her fists at her sides, he knows that it isn't.

"Please El," Olivia says. "Can I come in?"

He holds her eyes for a few seconds making her sweat before moving out of the way and shutting the door behind her. She takes off her scarf and gloves, shoving them into her coat pockets before laying it on the back of a brown leather armchair. Dressed casually in snow boots, dark jeans and a light blue V-neck sweater, his eyes are instantly drawn to the space above her cleavage.

"You're wearing your birthday present," he notices, gesturing to the 'fearlessness' necklace she dons before putting his food in the fridge.

Olivia reaches up to finger the rectangular, gold charm, cool against her skin. After telling him she'd given her old one to someone who had needed it more, he so thoughtfully replaced it.

"I am," she says. "Thank you by the way," she adds. "I love it."

"Good," he tells her, planting himself wide-legged in the middle of the sofa, reaching for the remote lying on the coffee table. "I'm happy for you," he adds sarcastically before muting Lucy and Ricky. "Now what brings you by?"

"An apology," she tells him. "I shouldn't have slapped you," she goes on, sitting next to him on the couch. "I'm sorry."

She clasps her hands in front of her, holding her head down waiting for his response.

"Me too," he offers. "For saying those things," he clarifies. "That it?"

Olivia focuses on him again, takes in his stoic expression but bravely presses on knowing he may kick her out before she gets to say what's been on her mind and…in her heart.

"No," she exhales. "I apologize for treating you as if you don't matter," she adds. "For realizing that things had changed…and ignoring it."

His feigned mask of indifference at last falls away, revealing the pain she's caused.

"When you initiated this how did you picture it goin' in your head?" Elliot asks, standing. "How could you think that after all we've been through, knowing each other for as long as we have that we could keep it casual?" He questions. "That things could stay…loveless."

He enters the kitchen and grabs a beer out the fridge without offering her one. After twisting off the cap, he takes a long, well needed drink before hopping up onto the counter.

"I don't know," she answers. "That first time I was just goin' through such a sh*t case that I needed something… _someone_ ," she elaborates. "And I wanted it to be you."

Olivia gets up and goes to him, sliding her hands up his thighs as she stands between his legs.

"I was surprised when you agreed to it just being sex," she admits. "Seems like we both should've known better."

Hearing the sincerity in her voice and seeing the emotion in her eyes, he makes the decision to forgive her.

He sits his beer aside, takes her face in both hands and kisses her softly. She lifts his Rangers t-shirt and smoothes her hands up and across his chest as she coaxes his mouth open. Elliot moans as she slides her tongue against his.

For a moment he gets lost in her again before he remembers why he was angry.

"Jesus Liv," he rasps, resting his forehead against hers. "I'm in love with you," he whispers against her lips. "What am I supposed to do with that?"

Olivia slides out of his reach and walks away.

"Well," she begins. "I have some ideas."

He hops off the counter, preparing for her to recommend that they resume their purely physical relationship, knowing how addicted to her he's become. She stands near his window, eying the fresh snowfall.

"I think we should maybe have dinner sometime," she suggests, watching Elliot's approach in the window's reflection. "You could…come by my place for a movie night every now and then," she continues. "Watch me sleep during a Jets game or I can listen to you wine about having been dragged to the MET."

When he comes up behind her, he wraps her in his arms before pressing multiple kisses up and down the side of her neck.

"Are you saying you want, dare I say it?" He asks with a huge grin. "A _relationship_?"

"Yes," she says, turning in his arms. "I want an exclusive, monogamous, romantic relationship with you," she explains. "So feel free to give me hickeys, flowers, and write me sappy notes," she adds with a smile matching his.

"Great," Elliot tells her, going to work on her neck. "Anything else?" He mumbles.

"Yeah," she says, not bothering to suppress a moan. "I'd love a repeat performance of that thing you did with your tongue on my birthday."

He laughs as he pulls back.

"On one condition," he tells her, growing serious again. "And I'm pretty sure you know what that is."

Olivia takes his sweatpants in her hands and attempts to push them down as she squats before him.

"Not that," Elliot says, pulling her back up.

"I know," she responds, biting her bottom lip. "I was just hoping to distract you instead of actually having to say the words."

"Liv," he begins, tacking both her hands in his. "One thing that this whole experience should've taught you," he continues, caressing his thumbs over her knuckles. "Is that I'd do anything to be with you…let you use me, control what we've had and risk a broken heart," he reminds her. "I'm not goin' anywhere. I love you."

When her focus drops to his carpet, he releases one of her hands to raise her chin. Olivia's eyes glisten with tears before a few manage to escape. He swipes them away with his thumb before resting his forehead against hers.

"What are you so afraid of?" He rasps.

"I don't wanna hurt you," she answers.

"You already have," he reminds her. "And I'm still here."

"Then I don't want you to hurt me," she reasons.

"No one could make that promise," Elliot tells her. "But I _can_ promise that I'll always wanna work it out," he vows. "No matter how angry I seem, no matter how big of a stubborn jackass I can be," he goes on. "I can't imagine a day that I'll never want you."

The beginnings of a smile raises a corner of her mouth.

"I'm in love with you too El," Olivia finally admits. "Now can you take your pants off?"

He grins widely before meeting her lips again as he picks her up. With her legs wrapped around his waist, he carries her to his bedroom. On his television, they've interrupted the 'I Love Lucy' marathon for the dropping of the Times Square New Year's Eve ball.

By the time the countdown starts, the two lovers are well on the way to christening their new relationship. Shoes, socks and clothes make a messy trail that ends at the foot of his platform bed. And Elliot's enthusiastically giving her the repeat performance from her birthday that she's asked for.

Because _for_ him, she's perfect.

Because _to_ him, she's worth it.

And because he loves her, she's earned it.

 _Es finito._

 **End A/N: As always, feel free to let me know what's on your mind in a review or a PM if you're feelin' shy. ;o)**


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